


Father of the Valley

by LazyJabbur



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hux wanted to be a bishop but got turned down, I mean, I'm armed with my favourite kinks and I'm not afraid to use them later, I'm sure you're not open access, M/M, Not, Other, Priest!Hux, Reader-Insert, This is a story, Well - Freeform, Work In Progress, all about how, and I'd like to take a minute, for now, gender neutral!reader, just sit right there, open access!reader, phasers set to fluff, relatable/accessible reader, these tags are a trainwreck and I need to go to bed, to tell you all about how you and him ended up in the middle of nowhere, uh, you can be open access if you want, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyJabbur/pseuds/LazyJabbur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in the city was always far too expensive and stressful so you decide to follow the cityslicker cliché and rent a cheap rundown little house in a little northern Welsh valley village that nobody has ever heard of (nobody back home even knows how to pronounce it). It has: one tiny train station, one petite post office/cornershop, a petrol station with only two pumps and a church that's barely more than a chapel.</p><p>You knew that you were in for a change of pace but you hadn't quite anticipated what you'd let yourself in for. </p><p>Escpecially when you caught the eye of the valley's cassocked king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Submission

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a submission I sent to the Thirst Order, first chapter is the submission itself. Since I'm flaky AF I'll be writing it as a series of one shots: that way if I lose motivation and stop writing I won't be leaving an unfinished chaptered story behind! 
> 
> Rating may change if I ever get around to writing smut, which let's be real is the main appeal of straight laced priest Hux >:3c
> 
> Apart from the future smut I'll try to keep anything related to the reader pretty gender neutral, if I ever get around to more specific stuff please feel free to request alternative versions that you would see more of yourself in!

"During his studies and attempts to network someone noticed his unhealthy levels of ambition and decided to have a quiet word with those in charge.

Now he'll never be archbishop.

After a youth spent in a big city with high expectations, he was assigned to a tiny parish in the british countryside (whichever country works for you, personally I like the idea of him stuck out in rural Wales, being perpetually grumpy while surrounded by gorgeous mountains and sheep) with subtle promises that he’ll be rewarded for his humility. (spoiler alert: he won’t)

Meanwhile he's going crazy looking after the same dull people with the same dull sins, mostly old farmers whose children left for the city.

~~He’s so lonely but won’t admit it.~~

And then you move into the village, and he will do ANYTHING to get you into his congregation. Anything to see your face while he preaches. Anything to wake up next to you.

He starts off by being sweet, which doesn’t come easily to him. He even bakes a welcoming gift, probably some scones so you’d have a cream tea with him.

When you politely decline his invitation to church afterwards since it’s not your religion/sect, he steps it up a notch.

He bumps into you whenever possible, steps up the charitable events, even subtly persuades the other villagers to ask you to come for just one sermon.

At night, he asks Millicent what he’s doing wrong over endless cups of tea.

(You lie awake and think of his plush lips spelling out blasphemy on your skin.)

 ~~He’s gonna take you on every last pew, in the confession booth, on the altar itself, no matter what it takes.~~ "


	2. For the Love of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you try to take advantage of a poor defenseless priest but forget that you're terrible at this. Set after the initial meeting.  
> These one shots will probably be in roughly chronological order.
> 
> Un-beta'd so if you catch any bad grammar, continuum mistakes, terrible characterisation (I mean priest!Hux is kinda OOC anyway but I'm trying to keep it as in character as I can), clunky phrases or other things please let me know :)  
> Thank you!

It was a quiet morning and you weren’t quite sure why you were awake so early on a Sunday. Then the church bells pealed again from down the road, answering your half formed question and prompting you to muffle a groan in your pillow. You should probably wash those pillowcases, but there were still cardboard boxes of your stuff on every floor and table and you couldn’t remember where the spare sheets were hidden.

Another cascade of loud, joyful tones and you wondered whether the local pharmacy- over in the next tiny village, further down the valley- stocked earplugs. You didn’t begrudge the newlyweds their happiness, but _why_ did they have to be morning people? You gave up on the rest of your snooze when the guests spilled out of the church and you realised just how loud a wedding congregation could be. Unwilling to leave to comfort of the bed you half crawled over to the window, legs still buried under the duvet and chest balanced on the bedside table while you inched open the curtains to peek outside.

The majority of the population here were older farmers and old farmers the newlyweds distinctly _weren’t._ Considering that half the village were out in their nicest clothes, one of them had probably grown up here and decided to continue the family tradition before going back to their life in the city. With the exception of two families who had actual children, you were one of the youngest inhabitants. You wondered about the generation that had escaped this sleepy little valley as soon as they could, and whether you should take it as a warning and follow suit. Looking down at the family reunion taking place below your window, it was clear to see just how eager the locals were for new gossip and stories of life outside the village- even the most mundane things from the next valley over. You looked, and from behind the glass pane you suddenly felt the separation keenly. You were too different to these people- your accent was all wrong, your fashion sense odd, your taste in music a little too eclectic and you didn’t go to church.

You didn’t go to church at all.

Of course not everybody went to mass, but the church was the closest thing the village had to a cultural hub, hosting every charity fundraiser, every local meetup and of course it was the backdrop to most of the pivotal moments of their lives: blessing their births, laying their dead to rest and uniting lovers in spiritual and legal contracts like the one currently being celebrated outside your door.

Luckily the congregation seemed to be moving towards a large marquee set up in the field across the stream. You wondered if you could slip in and join them if you dressed up nice- but with such a small community you’d be recognised instantly. Was it worth it for free food? The only breakfast you had to look forward to otherwise was a sad porridge without milk, butter or sugar. Gruel, really. Like some kind of Victorian orphan. Maybe they wouldn’t mind? Sure, it could be a colossal faux pas, or it could be an opportunity to get over your awkwardness and actually befriend your new neighbours…

Ha. The thought of following through and actually gatecrashing a marquee full of virtual and total strangers made your stomach clench in a kind of full body cringe. Nope. No way. Amusing to think about, but it was never going to actually happen.

You watched the last few stragglers leave the church, adjusting their colourful hats and taking off their jackets in the bright summer sun, when your eyes were drawn to an increasingly familiar copper mop atop ceremonial white robes. There was father Hux, smiling benevolently as he waved off the last to leave only for his face to drop straight back into a neutral expression ( _resting bitch face, you thought to yourself_ ) the moment they turned away. Ah. That motherfucker. What a dick, you thought fondly.

He’d probably cook you a full English without a moment’s hesitation if you promised to stop and stay for a whole sermon, but you’d feel bad ( _downright sacrilegious to be honest_ ) taking advantage of him like that, even if he was not-so-subtly trying to manipulate you into church. Not to mention the fact that leaving the house would have to involve taming the bedhead and wearing actual clothes, especially if there were well dressed wedding guests lurking about the village.

But.

A cup of tea would be really, really nice right now.

And, silly city dweller that you were, you were so used to being able to pay for everything with card that you hadn’t bothered to bring much cash- and the nearest atm was a few miles away. You’d been putting it off for a while and now you didn’t even have enough for milk.

And, well, he clearly didn’t have any other plans for the day with all his- clients? Flock? Congregation? You forgot the exact term sometimes, but whatever they were to him, they were currently all preoccupied with embarrassing the newlyweds and getting merry in the sunshine. Perhaps you could go in with the pretense of asking about the wedding? You were still new here, he was clearly aware that you weren’t close with anyone yet, he might even welcome the company and besides it wasn’t like a cup of tea was a huge inconvenience…. Perhaps a few biscuits too. Unless they were those really weird gross dry ones, in which case you’d rather have the gruel.

Mind made up to take advantage of the vicar ( _but only a little bit, hardly worthy of the confession booth_ ) you dragged yourself out of bed and towards the bathroom. You still hadn’t sorted out the heating payments but you did the best you could with some splashes of cold water, soap, a sponge and some judiciously applied deodorant. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to mistake you for a local troll, you began rooting through your floordrobe to find appropriate apparel for seducing a man out of his teabags.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

The thick wooden doors were still propped open to let a breeze cut through the muggy air inside. Your shoes were quiet even on the stone floor. Father Hux, unaware of your arrival, was clearing off the altar, the church silent except for the odd little huff or sigh as he worked. His hand reached up to wipe the back of his neck and for a moment you considered how the sweat must be beading up under those heavy robes. Your mouth felt a little dry, you figured in sympathy to his obvious discomfort. Not wanting anyone outside to come back and catch you staring at him, you reached out and gently rapped the nearest door.

You hadn’t meant to startle him when he was holding a valuable silver candlestick but it was still pretty amusing to see the millisecond of panic when he nearly dropped it. His reflexes were impressive, though, catching it again and regaining his composure with only a small twitch of his shoulders to give it away. There was only the slightest pause before he turned round with a pleasant smile painted across his face, clearly expecting a guest to have come back for something left in the pews. You could swear that his expression changed somehow when he recognised you, though you were still the full length of the aisle away from him and there was no physical change in his features. He was still holding the candlestick.

“Ah, hello Father Hux- I hope I’m not bothering you?”

He blinked a few times, somehow remaining impassive behind the smile, gauging your presence before striding over to you.

“Not at all. What brings you?”

“I was just curious about the wedding- it seemed a little rude to sneak into the marquee and interrogate the guests. I didn’t recognise the happy couple- are they moving in here as well?”

You were finding it difficult to phrase it the right way, trying to engage him in a conversation without giving the impression that you were after gossip. It earned you slow blink and a slight shake of his head as Hux looked back over to the altar, clearly contemplating how much he had to clear up before he seemed to remember that he hadn’t yet answered your question.

“No, the groom grew up here. Continuing the family tradition.”

His gaze slid back over to you. It was, as always, unnerving to be the focus of his attention. There was a subtle shift- difficult to pinpoint, was it in his eyes or was there the faintest quirk of his lips that you’d caught without realising? His smile stretched out as he leaned in slightly, the tone of his voice suddenly lighter as though he was trying to sell you something. Behind it all there was- something- the more time you spent with him the more you realised the pleasant nature was a performance- there was something in the intensity of his gaze, the way he locked on to your pupils with unwavering focus- something- predatory, almost-

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you in here of your own free will. It seems I only ever bump into you by accident in the village, and even then you always-“ He shifted his weight to the foot nearest to the door, as though about to move and block your exit- “seem like a startled deer. As though you’re about to run at any moment.” Straightening up, he looked back down at you. Why did he have to be so tall? “I apologise if I have said anything to make you... uncomfortable. I hope I haven’t done anything to upset you…?”

You could stop trying to guilt trip me into sitting through your sermons, you nearly replied, but managed to bite it down before it left your mouth. Instead you shook your head. “Not at all, father-“ it was kind of odd to call him father, maybe because you weren’t exactly used to it- “I just… I guess I’m not very good with people, and maybe I’m still nervous about being new. I- I’m sorry that I gave you that impression.” You shrugged apologetically, just catching his eyes contemplating you before your own gaze dropped to the floor.

“So what brings you to my door? If you’re not a ‘people person’,” you could practically hear the air quotes even though the thought of Hux actually making the gesture was an alien concept, “I can’t imagine that local gossip would be of much interest to you. Unless there was another reason you felt drawn to this place?”

His tone’s a little too flat to be classed as hopeful, exactly, but it’s something like it. You try to think of anything else you could have a conversation about, anything that would keep him talking long enough to offer you refreshment, anything that wouldn't return to the subject of him converting you to his faith- you came up blank. “Uh, no, as I said, I was mostly wondering if there were other new neighbours, and, uh,” you briefly considered talking about the weather. Wow, isn’t it sunny? Yes, it’s sunny. A great day for me to read you some parables! …No. What else was there to talk about? Sheep? Mountains? House prices? Local outbreaks of gout? You just knew that you needed a strong enough topic to stay away from his faith but it was like your mind was covered in fuzz, especially with how his height just slightly leaned over you and those clear bright eyes held you in their steady gaze and there was that pleasant scent, some kind of nice aftershave, just gently rising off him and this close you could actually feel his body heat spilling into the air between you and- “and I was out of milk!” Shit. Shit! Now you couldn’t try to manoeuvre him towards the kettle, he’d probably figure you out. “So, uh, I had to get out of the house anyway, and I’m out of money, well not out of money but out of cash, so I have to go down the valley anyway to get that, so that I can buy milk, and since I was out already and the wedding woke me up-“ You were babbling and you knew it, but it was so hard to string a coherent excuse together under his scrutiny. Clearly you weren’t going to be able to sweet talk him into that cup of tea, so it was time to cut your losses and move on.

“-so I thought I’d just check and then- start walking-“ you gestured vaguely towards the open door. You hoped you weren’t blushing. Unable to meet his scrutiny, you just stared outside, and you just knew that he was still watching you. A few awkward seconds pass before he let out a short sigh, and finally, finally you felt like you could look him in the eye again.

He seemed almost unsure of what to make of you but you can hardly blame him after that incoherent spiel. Instead of the steady focus he had before, now his gaze flickered between meeting both your eyes as though looking for something. You took a step towards the doors signalling that you were about to leave and suddenly that neutral expression was back. “…Of course. Well, as I’m sure you saw, I have some tidying up to do-“ he looked down at his hand, clearly surprised that he had been totally unaware of holding the candlestick the entire time- “and I suppose I shall see you next whenever fate decides. Or you do. Until then, little deer.” With that he closed off entirely and walked back to the altar. He’d never ended a conversation like that with you before- you had always been the one to have to call it off, gently blocking all the other avenues that he kept opening up- and you didn’t know if it was because he was tired after the wedding, or if he’d been caught off guard by your arrival, but it had felt so different. Normally he was always three steps ahead of you as though he’d planned out each topic like a chess game, but now it seemed he didn’t know what to say- so he decided to simply stop talking.

Nonplussed, you nodded at him _(pointless since his back was still turned to you_ ) and hesitantly left the church.

Shit.

Now you had to stick to your word and walk over to the next village. It was three miles away and your stomach was growling, so the sooner you started the better. At least it was nice weather for it…

_(You couldn’t help but notice that he had a surprisingly expensive looking car by his house. Weren’t priests supposed to have beaten up old rustbuckets, showing how they cared little for material wealth? His was black and low slung and it gleamed in the sun. You shrugged and kept walking.)_

You vowed that the next time you'd try to trick him into helping you out, you'd go armed with a better plan- or at least a backup conversation topic. It wasn't until your return journey home that you noticed the nickname he'd given you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing speech for Hux is much harder than I initially thought, particularly in a scenario that's so easily totally OOC to begin with. I'm trying to write him as a 'borderline cold hearted manipulative bastard who will take whatever he sets his heart on, and since his ambitions were thwarted his focusses this on reader-chan instead' but it's really hard to write when I am naturally more like reader chan, and also pretty much incapable of lying to people because I panic and they take control of the conversation. If there are any particular lies that stick out to you, please let me know!


	3. Get Your Shit Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew pot noodles were so offensive?
> 
> Some more background building in this one, including a long ramble about stargazing which may or may not become relevant. But more interaction with your neighbourhood ginger priest!

Finishing up your morning conference call, you glanced at the clock in the corner of your desktop. Not only was it lunchtime, but it had also been a month today since you first arrived at the dilapidated little cottage. Where the _fuck_ had the time gone? Sure, you had started to fall into a nice and easy routine of working from home, occasionally saying hello to your neighbours and going on long walks around the beautiful countryside whenever you knew father Hux was too busy preaching to ambush you ( _though it was fairly tempting to imagine him trying to keep up with you wading through streams and muddy hillsides in his long spotless cassock_ ).

Your neighbours were getting used to you, too, especially after a slightly embarrassing incident when you’d just gone for a long walk in the dark to enjoy the balmy summer night air and gaze up at the stars. You hadn’t _meant_ to trespass, in truth you walked through that field all the time during the day and nobody had had a problem with it before.

It had been a pretty terrifying experience to have your peaceful moonlit stroll interrupted by a huge dog tackling you and a shadowy male figure shouting, but to be fair the unholy scream and outpouring of (pretty creative) profanity that you replied with were probably unpleasant to deal with too.

It hadn’t taken long for you both to figure out what was happening and it was quickly settled, leading to a slightly awkward conversation the next morning that ended up breaking the ice between you and the other villagers. You weren’t sure you were ever going to live it down, but talking directly to them meant you now knew which fields not to tread in after dark. Aside from that, there was a distinct advantage to living in such a rural area where the most dangerous wildlife was an angry badger or stag (and they tended to run away, anyway), and it was the total sense of safety and peace that you felt when out at night.

Under the glow of orange lamplights in the city, the streets were full of shadows and the years of being warned about the dangers of strangers had put you off leaving the house after dark without a reason. Out here, the last bedroom lights usually flickered off before midnight, and every night you were faced with something you’d only seen in photos or the odd camping trip: the Milky Way spilling across from horizon to horizon, every star clear and sharp without the hazy orange light pollution. It called you away from your laptop screen after every sunset, and you knew it amused your neighbours when you gushed about it but it was a weird reputation you didn’t mind having.

You just wanted someone to share it with- but always, always before you pressed ‘send’ on an invitation to your family or friends back in the city, those sodding cardboard boxes would catch your eyes. You’d started to put your clothes away but half of them still spilled out over the floor, there was a huge pile of laundry in the corner because you hadn’t figured out the weird over complicated washing machine yet, your kitchen was an unorganised mess still mostly filled with ready meals and everywhere you went you were still faced with those damn boxes full of shit you couldn’t be bothered to sort out. There was no way you felt comfortable inviting anyone to this mess. This cottage was so small you didn’t even know if you had space. You’d jumped at the offer of getting a place to yourself so cheaply, but you could see why.

The building itself was squat and ugly compared to the other beautiful old houses, a small pebbledashed cube that was thankfully covered in ivy, the bottom floor cold and damp, the heating unreliable and telephone signal non-existent. Still, the internet connection was good and it was a place you could temporarily call your own which was more than you expected to get.

Your stomach growled, breaking you from your reverie and sending you over to your fridge. You stared aimlessly inside before deciding to grab something from the post office. Another advantage of the village life was that you weren’t too fussed who saw you in your pyjamas and slippers. Leek barely batted an eyelid from behind the counter (the third Rhys in the valley, he preferred to go by his surname) when you gave up pretending to be a responsible adult and cleared the entire shelf of pot noodles. It was only after you paid that you realised you didn’t have anything to carry them in. “Uh, hold on a sec- is it ok if I run back and grab a bag? I don’t think I can hold them all-“ the bell by the door tinkled and you just _knew_ without turning round that it was _him_. You didn’t realise you’d grimaced until you caught Leek huffing a laugh, his eyes crinkling round the edges.

“Afternoon, father.” The musical Welsh accent was always lovely to hear, unless you were stuck in a field at 1am with a snarling dog.

“Good afternoon, Leek. (Y/N).” Hux’s clipped Queen’s English sounded more alien to this village with every passing day. Against the rolling r’s and lilting tones he always sounded so brusque and cold, though he was clearly making an effort to be friendly. You were intensely aware of the fact you hadn’t showered since yesterday and your hair was a mess, but it would be rude not to even acknowledge him to you turned and forced a smile. His eyes flicked up to your face from wherever he’d been surreptitiously looking- was there a stain on your clothes? A ripped hole somewhere? Unless- oh fuck- you hadn’t bothered with underwear today. You should have known you couldn’t leave the house without chancing upon him. After a long pause he noticed the stack of twenty something plastic pots, and honestly if you didn’t want to die of embarrassment at that moment the expression that passed across his face- shock, mild disgust, concern- would have set you off into laughter. His gaze slid back across to you, settling for a look of disbelief. “Surely not. You _must_ know how to cook.”

You shifted uncomfortably, unconsciously covering yourself with your arms. “Well, yeah, but- you know- I still haven’t unpacked most of my stuff yet, and I’ve been a little busy-“ He looked pointedly down at your pyjamas.

“Busy?” He seemed to have dropped the nice act without realising it, if this snark and slight sneer were anything to go by.

You felt defensive after he caused you that embarrassment. Sure, you were in your pyjamas in the afternoon, but you _were_ busy! “ _Yes_ , actually. I’ve had to renegotiate several contracts this week, usually with clients who think they can use the fact that I’m no longer nearby to change their terms. I may not serve an omnipotent being who needs me to be awake and about at the crack of a lark’s fart, but I _am_ still dealing with people who are _pretty_ demanding and I’m working harder than I ever had to in the city- it still counts as real work even if I’m in pyjamas and no pants!” You felt triumphant for all of two seconds before you realised you admitted to not wearing underwear and this time you could _see_ his gaze flicker down again for half a second before he resolutely maintained eye contact with a packet of crisps behind your head.

After a few long seconds of you both trying to ignore Leek’s suppressed laughter, he looked back down at your purchase and sniffed. Actually _sniffed_ , like a haughty little Etonian brat. You saw his nostrils flare and everything. “Well, then. If you’re working a real job, you need real food.” He reached over and grabbed a few vegetables and other raw ingredients before you caught on to what he was planning, paying for them even as you started to protest and swiping them- and your stack of pot noodles- into a bag he’d brought with him ( _clearly some people were smart enough to plan ahead)._ Leek’s cheerful goodbye- he was _loving_ this, that smug Welsh wanker- hadn’t even finished before he’d left the shop with another little chime from the bell, striding purposefully towards your house.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

You only just managed to catch up with him _(running was inadvisable without underwear so you ended up power walking your way back across the road_ ) when he was already tugging open your front door. After all, why bother locking it when there were less than fifty people within a three mile radius? It struck you that this kind of behaviour was- frankly- _rude_ and distinctly un-priest-like even if he seemed to be doing it for your benefit. The chaos inside stopped him in his tracks long enough for you to start protesting before he carried on through the doorway, waiting until you were both inside before he began talking.

There was a strange look in his eye and he’d completely dropped the façade of... whatever it was that he was trying to be for the other villagers. “This-“ he gestured to the mess on every surface- “is unacceptable. You cannot live like this. It’s been a month since you moved in, and even if your job is stressful you have had plenty of time to properly set up-“

“But I’m always so drained afterwards! And there’s just so much of it- where am I even going to put it all?”

“If you have the time to go out on long walks at night, you have enough time to put your shit away-“ He glanced at the open door before moving to close it, clearly so that your increasingly heated argument wouldn’t be heard by anyone in the village. You were in shock at the fact that he knew about your late night sojourns, though you knew you shouldn’t be. Gossip travels fast in such a small community.

“How did- wait- who told you about my stargazing?”

He looked back at you and frowned, having clearly moved on from the topic in his mind. “Who told- oh. No, I-“ for a split second he looked almost unsure of himself, and you could tell he was phrasing his next words carefully- “I can… see your house from the parish cottage. I wondered where you were going that late at night, until farmer Davies told me about your… incident. But I digress. You won’t be able to distract me from the task at hand _that_ easily.” His hand hovered by the bolt for a second as though wondering whether to lock the door before reaching for the nearest box instead, opening it without asking you. “Hm. A lot of books here- do you have any shelves set up?”

“No, uh- no. There weren’t any here when I came.”

You had begun to shuffle away from him toward the stairs without realising. He seemed to pause and contemplate you before letting go of the box, hands loosely held palm up before him in a gesture of submission. “I apologise- my intent was not to intimidate you. However, regardless of your personal beliefs I am here to help the members of my community, even if they don’t know how to ask for it. And it looks like you do need help- after all, part of the problem is that _you_ don’t know how to ask for it.”

Well, fuck. He had a point, even if he’d gotten there with his arrogant assumptions about you. You were trying so hard to prove yourself to- yourself, really- that you had organised the move as much as you could, calling in a favour to transport everything up to your new home but dismissing them with cake as soon as you could, determined to set up the place and get it running smoothly within a few days. But then work had called and you’d needed to sort out a situation and then the rest of your afternoon had gotten tied up in trying to redirect billing addresses and direct debits and _then_ you’d been so tired afterwards that you’d just grabbed a pillow and duvet and collapsed on your unmade bed.

And you’d always had trouble asking people for help- you were used to people worrying about you and even more used to trying to _stop_ them worrying about you. “I’m fine,” was your most overused lie. But even then, the way he’d taken control had unnerved you. Especially the way he dropped that persona so easily. You watched him cautiously as he waited for a reply. After a full minute of awkward waiting, he reached for the box of books again- his eyes still on yours, hesitating as though wordlessly asking your permission. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, speaking mostly to yourself. “Ok. Ok. Sure, you can- I mean, thanks. Just-“

Your phone let out a chime, informing you of an incoming Skype call. You looked up at him. “I told them I’d only be away for ten minutes- I- I’m sorry- I need to- do you mind if I-?” He nodded but made no move to leave as you answered the call, keeping it to just audio. You resumed the negotiating you’d left off, keeping an eye on him as he picked up the box and set it to one side. Under your watchful gaze, he moved over to the kitchen area and began looking through your tiny cupboards, frowning as he did so. You’d tried to move all your packed belongings into the general areas they’d be unpacked in, so you didn’t mind too much as he began opening up more of the brown cardboard infestation.

Just as he pulled out pots and pans and was clearly about to ask you where to put them, the lady on the other end of the phone started to try and walk you through a particularly complex detail and you had to turn away to focus on her voice. There were too many elements and you needed to get your laptop out so you could make a note or, better yet, get the task over and done with now before you could forget anything. You were dimly aware of the clattering of crockery in the background as you flipped the lid open, impatiently tapping the tabletop while it whirred to life. Father Hux’s intrusion was something you didn’t have time for, but since he was so intent on making himself useful you may as well let him get on with it while you do your damn job. Finally beginning to relax, your attention narrowed down to the voice in your ear and the computer screen in front of you, going through the motions and trying to get as much out of the way as you could.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You had no idea how much time passed before the smell of frying onions enveloped you, drawing you back into the real world again. Your skype call had long since devolved into a series of idle ‘mhm’s as both sides got fully caught up in their own work, so it wasn’t too rude of you to say goodbye and end it. When you looked up, you realised with a start that the rest of the table was nearly clear- had you really been so absorbed that you hadn’t even noticed him moving things right in front of you? His back was still turned to you when you turned towards the kitchen, leaning over your cooker with a wooden spoon in hand. It was unusual to catch him like this- to watch him without being watched right back. It was- nice.

The tilt of his head revealed more of the hair at the nape of his neck from below the collar, and it surprised you how neatly it was trimmed- even out here, where the nearest barber was at least half an hour away by car. Neat was a good word for him. Meticulous, precise… anally retentive. The cupboards were all shut but you just _knew_ that if you opened them you’d find everything neatly put away, your haphazard collection of mismatched saucepans and cutlery and crockery tidied up until there was some kind of order. His spotlessly black robes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust, let alone a crease of any kind. His whole body had a kind of neatness to it, from what you could tell, tall and slender with even features- immaculately groomed, of course. The sideburns were a little unusual in this day and age but they were always kept short, and in all honesty you hadn’t even noticed he had them until about a week into your new life. But there were little hints that he was human- there were little lines at the corners of his pale eyes and full lips but he could be anywhere between twenty and forty years old. And in the middle of his cheek there was- something- a mole or wart or- whatever- the same colour as the rest of his face but still marring the otherwise unsettling symmetry. His hair was always perfectly parted into that neat hairstyle- and there it was again. _Neat_. You wondered what it would take to _really_ ruffle his feathers-

“Do you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

You practically jumped out of your skin when he spoke up.

“…Not to any of the ingredients you’re about to cook with. I- Thank you- You don’t have to do this, you know, especially since I’m ignoring you-“

“I’m used to it.” You didn’t know if he was referring to helping people or you ignoring him, and you were almost afraid to ask.

“Are you finished for today?”

“Oh, no, I- still have to type this up. But I don’t think I need to make any more conference calls today, if that helps.”

“Well, food will be ready in about ten minutes. I went for something that should be fine with most dietary requirements, since you were unavailable to ask.” There didn’t seem to be any passive aggression in his tone but you still felt a little guilty. Even if he had been a little rude, he had helped you- and how long would you have continued to leave those pesky cardboard boxes? The silence that followed was not exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t overly _un_ comfortable easier. You continued to watch him.

You realised he was wearing your apron- and your first thought was that it was endearing, somehow, and you wanted him to turn around so you could get a full view. Your second thought was to recoil at the thought of finding father Hux _endearing_ \- he was a manipulative priest who faked his smiles and, for some reason, was currently borderline stalking you in an inexplicable attempt to convert you to his beliefs. Your third thought was that, well, he was fairly handsome after all so endearing wasn't too far a stretch. But that might just be because he was the only man in a three mile radius who was ( _probably_ ) younger than forty ( _excluding the children, of course_ ). Your fourth thought was to wonder if priests could even _have_ relationships. As far as you knew they weren’t allowed to do anything- they couldn’t gamble, couldn’t drink, couldn’t smoke, couldn’t fuck, couldn’t swear- your eyes flew open as you realised something.

“Father Hux!”

He nearly dropped the spoon as you called out his name, so jarringly loud in the silence, before he looked over his shoulder to see you grinning impishly at him.

“You _swore._ ”

You sounded and felt like a little child grassing up their classmate, and it was worth it to see the confusion furrow his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Earlier. You said, and I quote- ‘If you have enough time to go walking about, you have enough time to sort your shit out.”

He contemplated it. “I don’t think those were my _exact_ words-“

“No, but you definitely said ‘shit’. Are you priests even allowed to swear?” He turned back to the pan, suddenly focussed on the food.

“It’s… not advisable, to stoop to such vulgar language. Especially towards members of the parish. Hardly an offense worthy of punishment, but I do apologise for using such crude terms-“

“It’s like you forget that you’re supposed to be good, sometimes.”

“…I beg your pardon?” His tone was soft, unsure, ready to turn defensive at any moment.

“You only act like a priest when people are watching you. Like you’re pretending to be the perfect vicar, but when they’re not looking you’re…” You trailed off, suddenly uncertain how to finish it.

“…I’m what, exactly?”

You paused to consider your reply, and he served your food out onto two plates- but made no move to bring them over, or to even face you.

“Am I unfriendly? Cold? Cruel? Unworthy of your time?”

“No, you’re just-“

“ _Just-_ Just what?”

“Just- relentless!”

He finally turned around at your answer, studying you. “Relentless.”

“Well, yes. Ever since I got here it feels like not a day has passed without you trying to- trying to _convert_ me to your religion, and I- I really do appreciate all you’ve done to help me, I just wish that you could do so without trying to manipulate me into following your _damned_ doctrine!”

Under that level gaze you were nervous about your outburst, but you found that you didn’t regret it. Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he rid himself of the apron and picked the plates up from the side.

“I apologise for making you feel like that. Is that why you take such great lengths to avoid me?”

“I wouldn’t say _great_ lengths, but… yes. I suppose it can feel a little… intrusive.”

“I see.”

He finally brought over the food and set it before you, pulling out the only other chair in this house and sitting- not quite across from you, but not next to you either, and tucked in.

“…Sorry.”

Glancing back up at you, he seemed genuinely surprised. “You needn’t apologise- I made you uncomfortable. And continued to impose upon you though you made it clear you were avoiding me. Though- if you’d permit me to ask- is it _just_ my religion, or is it my company in general that you object to taking up your time?”

You paused to consider his words. “Your religion, I think. But not in general- just when you try to force it on me.”

His lips twisted in the briefest of half smiles before parting, about to say something- but then he stopped, thought further, and said, “I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to convert you, for what it’s worth- just to see you in my church more often.”

“Why would you want someone to listen to your sermons if they don’t believe in what you’re preaching? This is fucking delicious, by the way.”

He didn’t bat an eyelid at your language, though you feel a little weird about swearing to a priest. “This is a very small community and the church is at the centre of it all. I had thought that if you spent more time there, you would feel more included in the village itself, though I understand if you feel that your time would be better spent elsewhere.” The answer felt like it had been well rehearsed, before he added on as an afterthought- “and thank you. Though I’m afraid I have to leave soon, I still have a small amount of preparation to do for tomorrow’s service.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, right? When would it start?”

The look he gave you was cautious, his face still blank. “…11 am. It should last approximately two hours, after which I am available if some wish to talk to me privately.”

“Two hours? Well, I’m not working so I suppose I’d just be sleeping otherwise. After all, Sunday is a day of rest!”

He didn’t acknowledge your joke, but for the first time you saw what you thought was a genuine smile- the tiniest tilt of his lips. “Then I look forward to seeing you.” He finished off his meal and took your empty plate too, washing them for you. Yet another silence stretched between you but you had no idea how to fill it- or if it should even be filled.

He took his wallet out of the bag he brought the groceries in, folding the bag up into a neat little square before hitching up his cassock and putting them both into a pocket of the neat charcoal trousers underneath. Even through the straight lines of the fabric you could see that his legs were long and slim, and there was a little sliver of pale skin between the hem of his trousers and his black leather Oxfords- was he wearing them without socks? It was a wholly unexpected sight and you felt a little confused by how much it affected you. You weren’t quite sure _how_ it affected you, just that it momentarily knocked you for six, and you began to understand how Victorian men might have found the sight of a lady’s ankle so shocking when everything had been so hidden. Then the hem of his black cassock tumbled back down and blocked it from your view again. When you met his gaze you just _knew_ that he’d seen everything- your fascination and rapt attention- so you tried to laugh it off. “You have legs. Who knew?”

“Most people tend to. I’m afraid I have to go now, Millicent usually eats around this time-“

“Millicent?”

“Millicent, my cat.”

“You have a _cat_? How do you avoid getting cat hair on everything?”

“I clean my clothes. Don’t you?”

“Well, yes- maybe not at the moment since I’m still trying to figure out how the hell that washing machine works- but back home if you sat down for an instant you’d be covered! Especially-“ You gestured to him- “if you dressed all in black.”

His nose wrinkled the moment you admitted you weren’t washing your clothes, but refrained from making a comment. “I don’t wear my cassock at home.”

“You don’t- you mean you wear normal clothes? As in, jeans and a t shirt?” Your mind boggled at the thought of him in casual clothes. And then you thought of those long lean legs, and it boggled a bit more.

“I prefer tailored trousers and proper shirts, but yes. I wear… normal clothes. With the collar still, preferably.”

“…Huh. Well. I’ll let you go, Father Hux, before the neighbours begin to spin some rumours about the two of us-“

“They won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mrs Jones has surreptitiously peered into your window six times since I came in, and each time she’s seen us on opposite ends of the room totally absorbed in our tasks. I assure you she hasn’t found anything to besmirch our names with.”

You paused to consider just how fucking desperate for news your neighbours were. “…It’s almost a shame, really.”

He seemed taken aback. “A shame?”

“Imagine their faces if we gave them something to _really_ talk about.” The words were out of your mouth before you really considered who you were saying them to, lulled into a false sense of security by the friendly conversation you’d been having. You quickly stammered some half hearted apologies when his raised eyebrows prompted you to consider your words and opened the door for him, unable to meet his eyes. “Well, uh, thank you for the food and the help, Father, sorry again, it was really delicious and, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow- I guess-“

“It was my pleasure.” Was it you, or had his voice dropped half an octave on that last word? “Thank you for your time, and I hope to you see in church tomorrow-“ and then there was an almost inaudible- “little deer.” You blinked owlishly at him as he left without another word in the bright sunlight. It felt wrong, somehow, that so much had seemed to have happened for it to only be mid-afternoon. You found it impossible to focus on your work for the rest of the day, so it was a good thing you’d covered so much ground that morning. And when you opened your fridge that evening to consider your options for dinner, you discovered that he’d already served, covered and set aside a third portion for you. And- you laughed out loud- all but two of those pot noodles had been stacked up on top of your cupboards, out of easy reach, and the two that were available had a note in neat writing stating – “If you must.”

Until tomorrow, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooly shit this got out of hand.
> 
> So admittedly the actual plotline has always been pretty vague in my head, but I WAS going to go for more of a "Reader is almost totally oblivious, 100% cinnamon roll, and sees Hux as a truly sweet, kind, harmless and devout priest until much later on when he slips up and Hux manages to carry out his schemes to make her his without her realising until too late" but it just keeps evolving as I write it and changing before I can catch up.
> 
> Which is good, because now it feels like a much more balanced power dynamic is emerging!
> 
> But I have NO idea which direction we're going in now- in some ways it's going a lot faster and feels more like a chaptered fic than a series of one shots, in other ways it's slowed right down and I genuinely don't know how the relationship between them will develop. We'll get to the smutty smut eventually, I promise, just not the way I initally thought out. 
> 
> As a side note- I'm trying to keep as much about the reader as vague as I can- not just gender identity, but also religious beliefs, music tastes, dietary requirements, job etc. While Hux is preaching Christianity, I haven't decided which branch he belongs to- though I'm leaning towards Catholic because of the fun you can have with confession booths. If anyone has any suggestions or queries, hmu :)


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